


The Day of Destroya

by Scarlet_Cross



Series: Written in the Sand [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Blood, Danger Days AU, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Human Sacrifice, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, intentional bleeding, intentional cutting, mental manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 14:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5873983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Cross/pseuds/Scarlet_Cross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a regular patrol mission goes south it's up to Gerard and Ray to pick up the pieces. But with Frank beaten nearly to death and Mikey taken prisoner by the Scarecrows they need some help. With the clock ticking and no one else to turn to they resort to seeking help from the man himself, Killer King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is defiantly a continuation from the first fic in this series so you'll need to go back and read it to understand the lore and references I make in this Fic.

_If you can lessen the chance of a bad injury by being strong, you have to do it.  
~Joel Parkinson_

When they found Frank he was a bloody mess. Cuts covered his exposed skin- face, neck, arms, and one of his legs was bent at an awkward angle. He was slowly dying, lying in a shallow puddle of his own blood. Gerard could hear his breaths coming out in short, watery gurgles as they approached.

“They took him…” was the first thing Frank choked out, blood coating his lips as he spoke. “They fucking took… Mikey.”

“Shhh, focus on breathing,” Gerard purred, willing himself to focus on Frank.

Frank’s eyes fluttered shut as Gerard and Ray knelt down next to their friend. With painstaking caution they managed to get Frank onto a bike, Gerard hopping on behind him and slipping his arms under Frank’s to the handle bars. Ray pulled the bike Frank had originally been on out of the dust, and despite its battering, coaxed it to life. They made it back to the diner at a slow pace, taking care to avoid anything that might jossle the bike and injure Frank further. The whole way back Gerard kept counting the half drowned breaths Frank managed and prayed they wouldn’t stop.

When they finally got back the the diner they had established as home Frank had started muttering incoherent things. Ray carried him inside and Gerard ushered Grace into her room. With hasty reassurances Frank would be alright and promises they would explain later, Gerard turned from Grace to the small medical stash they had accumulated. In the main area of the diner he found Ray had laid Frank on a table, he set the kit on the table and both of them went to work.

With butterfly fingers Ray started examining Frank while Gerard brushed matted, black hair off Frank’s face. Ray pulled away Frank’s jacket to find the shirt underneath was just as wet with blood as the rest of him. He cut the shirt off then poked and prodded around looking for the sources of blood and gently stitched them up when he found them. With Ray at work, Gerard grabbed a bit of gauze and started wiping the blood and grit off Frank’s face. He found most of the cuts were mercifully shallow but there was one the side of his neck that had gone deep. It had missed any major arteries but it would still leave a nasty scar. Gerard stitched it up and layered it with bandages.

They both winced as Frank sat up in a coughing fit and spat a clot of blood onto the chipped tile floor. Ray moved Frank’s arms to check once again around his upper chest for any area where his lungs could have been punctured. He only found the yellowing skin of where several large, boot shaped bruises would be soon to form.

“Didn’t get… stabbed,” Frank managed. “Just swallowed a lot... of blood.”

Frank’s voice was rusty and worn but Gered noticed a distinctive lack of wet gurgles in his breathing now. The two went back to tending to Frank. They still needed to set his leg and put some kind splint or cast on it. Gerard gave Frank a wet rag to bit down on as Ray examined his leg. They were all thankful the find it wasn’t a broken bone, just a dislocated knee and sprained ankle. Frank still screamed through the towel and gripped Gerard’s hand with bone breaking strength when Ray moved his kneecap back in place. He was a sweaty mess by the time Gerard and Ray lowered him into the pile of blankets in the corner of the main room Frank usually slept on.

“Is he okay?” Grace’s voice was low and scared, her eye wide peaking through the doorway.

“Hey come here,” Ray said, opening his arms wide. Grace ran into the room, wrapping her small arms around her brother. “He’s gonna be fine, Frank just got banged up.”

“Can I help?” She asked looking from Ray to Gerard.

“Yeah, um, it you could go get him a glass of water, that would be great.” Gerard answered.

Grace smiled and ran from the room.

“She’s too sweet,” Frank grumbled.

“Hey Frankie, how ya feelin?” Ray sat down next to his friend’s make-shift bed.

“Like shit,” Frank managed to let out a small laugh before he coughed up another clot of blood.

“Frank, what the fuck happened out there? And you said someone took Mikey, who took him?” Gerard questioned, still standing over the two.

“Fucking Scarecrows,” Frank closed his eyes like he didn’t want to remember. “We were doing the patrol route, barely out for ten minutes out when twenty of them came from nowhere. They must have buried themselves in the sand because there was nothing around. But they were there for us, they were on the bike before I could even realize what was happening. One of them threw me off and then they all fucking descended on me. They ripped at my clothes and cut and kicked. Their fucking black, painted smiles,” Frank paused, needing a moment to recollect himself. “I saw them leaving before I blacked out. They were carrying Mikey, his eyes… his eyes weren’t open. Gerard, I don’t even know if he was alive.”

  
Frank was a shivering mess again when Grace came back with the cup of water. She handed it to Frank and he lifted it to his lips and drank in small gulps. His hands kept shaking so badly he started to spill and eventually Ray had to take the cup from him and handed it back to Grace. She took the cup and refilled it and this time didn’t hand it to Frank, she just put the cup to his lips herself. She ended up doing his three more times while Gerard and Ray watched in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

_The injury that we do to a man must be such that we need not fear his vengeance.  
_ _~Steve Perry_

“What are you thinking?” Ray stood against the outer wall of the diner, watching Gerard poke at Frank’s burning, bloodied clothes.

“I think I want my fucking brother back, and I want kill the Crows who hurt Frank,” Gerard’s tone was muted anger, slow and seeping.

Ray sighed, “I want that too, but Gerard, there are just two of us. Frank’s banged up enough he won’t be able to walk for a least a week and Grace is still just a kid.” Ray walked the few short paces to close the gap between him and Gerard. He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s a suicide mission.”

Gerard turned from the ashy mess of fabric. “What about the Young Bloods? They gave us shelter after... “ A lump formed in his throat. It was still taboo to talk about and the memory of all those charred bodies, months old but still too fresh, “the last time the Scarecrows attacked.”

“There’s a difference between shelter and a war party.” 

Gerard wanted to scream in frustration. He could feel the angry tears coming to his eye, only further aggravated by the smoke of the dying fire. This loss was so very different from the one they had suffered when the tribe had been stolen from them. Then Gerard felt hollow, his whole world gone. He felt heavy under the burden of what was  _ missing. _ Now he was on fire with no water to put himself out with. The part of last pocket of home, of family, hand been taken and another part beat nearly to death.

He felt a small stream of tears spill over onto his cheek, cleaning a line of dirt and grit from his skin. Ray pulled him into a hug as angry sobs racked his body. His mind was on fire and Ray’s skin felt too warm with the Desert heat but he clung tight to one of his last bits of family. His mind raced, thinking of some way, any way, to get Mikey back. He couldn’t ask the Young Bloods to war. The Pilots were too far away to be considered. They had found a small resistance in the City, almost like a Desert tribe in many ways, but they were far from warriors. 

He could throw himself into the Desert. Beg for it to save his brother. Ask for it’s power and offer himself as payment. He could become like..

“Killer King,” Gerard muttered into Ray’s shirt.

“What?” Ray asked, releasing Gerard from their embrace.

“Killer King, we could find him.” Gerard’s voice was raw and numb.

“What the fuck? No. Are you dehydrated?” Ray grabbed Gerard’s wrist and pulled him back into the diner. He sat Gerard down at one of the tables and brought him two glasses of water. “Drink.” He ordered.

“I’m fine, I promise,” But with one look from Ray Gerard picked up one of the cups and downed it in two long gulps. 

Ray pick up the other cup and offered it again, “Look, Gee I know you want Mikey back, I want him back too. But finding Killer King is the same suicide mission as taking on all the Scarecrows alone. For starters, no one knows where he is so it could take us weeks to find him. And when he escaped the city he set half of it on fire. We don't know how much of him is still rational or even human.”

Gerard nibbled on the rim of the cup for a moment contemplating what Ray had said. He set it down and reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out their last copy of the Desert map. He unfolded it on the table, taking care not to rip any of the edges.

“We know he escaped the city from somewhere over here,” Gerard put a finger on a spot in the Northeast territory of the city. “And we found tracks leading towards the Sand Sea, the only shelter on that side of the Desert is the Viper Pit.”

“Fine, that’s a start,” Ray admitted after a moment of staring a the map. “But he’s been out for a couple weeks, he could have moved on or he could have gone back to the other Crows.”

“Please Ray, it’s a starting place, like you said. There’s not any harm to just look,” Gerard pleaded.

Ray stood and grabbed his jacket off one of the other tables in the diner. “Just remember, you can’t help Mikey any if you get your ass killed.”   
He slipped his arms into the jacket before lightly knocking on Grace’s door to tell her they were leaving and to keep an eye on Frank.


	3. Chapter 3

_The line between bravery and stupidity is so thin that you don't know you've crossed it until you're dead._

_~Unknown_

Gerard knew it was a bad fucking idea. They’d probably never find Killer King, and if they did he’d definitely end up killing one of them. But at the same time he still had the wildfire rage radiating through him, just under the skin. He let his rational, self preservation thoughts shift to the back of his mind with the road bumps and motorbike wind blowing in his face.

They hadn’t been to the Vipe Pit since they were teenagers, just after they found Frank. Sometimes they still joked about how Mikey screamed when he fell in, partially assembled snake skeletons littering the floor and effectively scaring the shit out of him. Now Gerard and Ray were heading there to look for something far more sinister than snakes.

Killer King had been half mad, on a good day. He had been the leader of the Scarecrows from what the Killjoys could decipher. Any survivors from every attack and raiding party the Scarecrows lead could distinctly remember him, tall and lanky with sinewy muscles and whooping sing-song battle cries. 

There were a few scattered rumors about him, how he came to be the single figurehead of such an overbearing and vicious tribe. Amond had once told them - after the first scouting party out they had seen him - that he was no more than a sick man, trapped in his own mind. It was a common belief among the Young Bloods he was some kind of demon, created out of Desert clay and made flesh, whose only purpose to bring pain and strife. But it was a thought Gerard had heard from a Lowlander of the dunes that he really believed. This Lowlander told him about a legend in their tribe - woman who called on all the power of the Desert to avenge her child’s death, offering her own life in exchange. When the power came to her, so total and consuming, she obliterated her enemies and, still drunk with bloodlust, never stopped killing.

Regardless of what was true and what was myth, Gerard knew Killer King was a hell of a fighter. Frank had told his own bloody tail of the transport truck and the war cry whooping that echoed off its walls. Gerard brought the bike to a stop, Ray not far behind, as they reached the Viper Pit. He reached into his boot and pulled out the knife he kept there along with the new, plastic ray gun they’d stolen off some Dracs. He was still learning to use this new weapon- deceitfully simple, aim and fire. He lacked experience with the gun, he could aim fine it he had time, but rarely does one have  _ time _ in a fight. He still relied heavily on his knife skills, they came as naturally as breathing.

Ray walked over to join him at the edge of the pit, looking down at the sandy bottom still with bits of crushed bone.

“I’m going down,” Gerard announced after a quick assessment. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s home, but I’ll see if anyone’s been here recently.”

And before Ray could protest Gerard jumped off the edge. Falling about double his height onto the Pit floor and rolling forward to absorb the impact. He came out of the roll, out of instinct, posed for a fight, knife drawn in one hand and gun held in the other. There was no need, like he said, no one was home. He walked the perimeter of the Pit looking for tracks or a fire ring, something to indicate people had been there recently. Halfway around the circle he spied a partially buried bit of charcoal. He used his foot to brush away some more sand on top of it and around it. There were more pieces, close enough together they had to be recent otherwise the wind would have blown them apart. He reached down to pick up a piece and immediately dropped it; it was still scorching hot.

“Hey, come check this out,” Gerard turned to call back to Ray, who had taken a seat on the edge of the Pit, legs dangling over the side.

A cool, thin piece of metal found it’s way to the side of Gerard’s neck accompanied by a hand over his mouth. The hand forcefully tugged backwards and the blade pressed into his skin as added incentive. Gerard allowed himself to be dragged towards the wall of the Pit, but rather than smacking against it like expected, he walked back into a shallow cave. He hadn’t noticed it before, but come to think of it last time they were here he remembered there were a few wind worn caves lining the perimeter of the Pit. 

The hand released from his mouth and he took a sharp breath in, intending to call on Ray for help. He didn’t manage to get a sound out before the hand grabbed one of his shoulders and slammed his back against the side of the cave. The forearm of a thin, bony arm was shoved into his throat and the tip of the knife placed just below in the hollow of his throat.

“What did you come for?” A high pitched, soft voice hissed.

Gerard managed to tip his head down enough to see the owner of the voice. It was a girl, only slightly shorter than him with deep brown hair and full blue eyes. Her face looked slightly gaunt with hunger, her lips chapped and peeling, and she was clad in torn and grungy, but unmistakably city clothes. Gerard almost let himself take a sigh of relief, stopping himself when the tip of the blade needled at his throat. This girl was from the city, he could easily disarm her. More importantly though, she wasn’t Killer King.

In one fluid motion Gerard lifted a leg and landed his foot into the chest of the girl, sending her flying back across the narrow tunnel. she hit the packed dirt with a satisfying  _ thump  _ and slid down to a limp heap on the ground. Gerard walked over and kicked the knife out of her hand. She groaned and ran a hand through her hair, rubbing at the back of her head.

“Alright, let’s get you some water,” Gerard crouched down and put one of her arms over his shoulders and helped her stand up.

They’d found a few others like her, city people fleeing into the Desert for various reasons but all quickly coming to the harsh realization they couldn’t survive in the Desert. Most often they were feral by the time the Killjoys stumbled across them, like this girl. The Killjoys did their best to nurse them back to health and sanity and assist them wherever they wanted to go after.

The girl was muttering incoherent words Gerard wasn’t bothering to listen to as he lead her back out of the cave. When they stepped out the cave, bright sun light momentarily blinding Gerard, her feet planted firmly in the ground.

“C’mon, not gonna-” Gerard started.

“Brendon stop that right now! Right fucking now!” She took her arm off Gerard and stumbled a few feet forward into the sandy Pit. 

Gerard followed her line of direction across the Pit to see Ray face down and unmoving on the ground and a crouched form pinning his body down. Gerard took off, passing the girl, and lept on the figure. He knocked the figure, a man, off Ray and they tumbled in the sand for a moment before the other man pinned Gerard. He laid with his back on the ground and both arms pinned above his head, the lithe figure sitting on his chest. 

Clad only in pants Gerard could see the sinewy muscle covering the man’s thin body. He had a few ink markings, like Frank’s, on his skin. No city people had them, they were only common with a few Desert tribe which meant he was not from the city like his female friend. His hair was long, but not as long as Gerard’s, and it was a dark brown. What was most distinctive was the man’s face, long and elegant, it should have looked angelic, but it was contorted in rage like frenzy. His brown eyes shifting rapidly, monitoring Gerard as he brought a knife, Gerard’s own knife, to the side of Gerard’s throat.

He was fucked, sooo fucked. This was Killer King. Gerard let out a small hysterical laugh. He was here after all, and Gerard was going to die just like Ray had said. They were both going to die. So was Mikey, leaving beaten and blood Frank and little Grace all alone and it would be all his fault.

“Brendon,” Gerard heard the girl call again, not daring the look. “Stop it.” Killer King’s movement paused at her words.

The girl finally made her way across the Pit and wrapped her arms around Killer King’s torso. He melted in her arms, allowing her to pull him off Gerard. She landed in the sand with his head in her lap and ran her fingers through his hair, murmuring sweet words. Gerard scrambled to his feet, pulling out his ray gun and taking a defensive stance. But there was no need, Killer King was still laying limp in the girl’s lap, eyes closed and calm.   
“Who are you?” Gerard asked, completely mesmerized at this strange city girl.


	4. Chapter 4

_ I do respect people's faith, but I don't respect their manipulation of that faith in order to create fear and control.   
_

_~Javier Bardem_

 

Sarah, as the girl called herself, was a scientist in the city. She was training for a leadership position when the brought Brendon in. Many of the higher ups in BLI were ecstatic when a small army of Dracs managed to capture him and a handful of other Scarecrows. They were working on behavior monitoring serums to alter Desert dwellers, to make them “suitable” for city life.

Sarah had explained BLI wanted to test and tweak the serums on some of the more radical Desert tribes. They’d started with a few Young Bloods because they most often waged small attacks on the city. This made for a plentiful supply of test subjects. They’d moved to the Sirens after that, changing the serum to reduce the antisocial nature the Desert often instilled and the Sirens were famous for. Then, after years of experimentation, they challenged themselves to tame Scarecrows.

It had been dumb luck BLI had caught their leader, Killer King, in their very first attempt at rounding up test subjects. In fact, they had no clue who Killer King was or his position until months into testing when Brendon become more sociable. Sarah said they had him for a little over a year, he being the only one of all the subject to survive that long under all of the mind altering tests.

In some ways BLI had succeeded. They’d managed to break Killer King down to something that was mostly resembled a human. He’d admitted his name was Brendon and learned a few garbled pieces of English. There were even times he had exhibited compassion and complied with more tests. But he still had frequent, frenzied outbreaks, collecting a body count over time.

Because of her position, so close to leadership and a captain of the experiments herself, Sarah had an unparalleled access to Brendon. She spent countless days with him, observing and interviewing him on how he felt and prescribing different rehabilitation tactics. She came to see him as a human, not just a test subject that needed fixing. It was at this point she knew she couldn’t let him suffer any more. He was beginning to crack and fray around the edges, his mind starting to self destruct under their intensive tinkering with it.

She’s spent a month planning his escape, and as soon as she let him out of his cage it all went down the drain. Originally she had wanted to just get him out, sending him through an access tunnel in the sewers and back into the Desert. She herself had not actually planned on going with him. She’d lived in the city her whole life; the thought of leaving it, especially with Brendon who she  _ knew _ was still half mad, was terrifying. But in the end there hadn’t been any room to argue. She’d pressed the fingerprint scanner lock to open his cage that night and in a lightning fast bolt of strength he’s slammed her head against the wall and she was out cold.

She’s woken slung over Brendon’s shoulder and with the hot sun beating down on her back. Her struggle to get away was short lived as Brendon didn’t make an attempt to chase her. She ran toward the smokey city, smoke she assumed Brendon was responsible for, and looked back to see how close he was. To her surprise he was planted in the ground right where she had left him. She wasn’t close enough to see his face but she could only assume it matched his body posture, deflated and sad. Suddenly embarrassed, she stopped and turned around, walking back towards him. When she made it back she could see his face was just as expected, hurt and gloomy.

“You care... for me,” He had said in his broken English, “and I care for you.”

Sarah smiled at him as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her further into the Desert.

**…**

Gerard and Ray traded glances when Sarah finished telling her story. Brendon was still laying pylant in her lap but he has shifted from a somewhat unconscious state to alert. Probably still sizing Gerard and Ray up; they were intruding on his home and he needed to know if they were a threat or not.

“Why didn’t you go back?” Ray asked. “Back to the Scarecrows, your tribe, your family.”

At this Brendon sat up, looking Ray in the eye for the first time. “My people are not…” the paused looking for the right word, “kind to outsiders.”

“Well thanks for clearing that up,” Gerard snorted.

Brendon continued, “They not have taken Sarah... and I not want to be without her. Now she family.”

Ray watched as the two shared a smile, “We actually came hoping you could help us.” They both turned back to look at him.

“Yesterday my brother, Mikey, and a close friend of ours, Frank,” Gerard started “went out on patrol and didn’t come back. This morning we found Frank beaten up in the dirt and he claimed it was the Scarecrows and that they took Mikey.”

“Took him?” Brendon cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Was he still living?”

“Frank doesn’t know, we’re hoping so though,” Ray replied.

“Should hope he’s dead, it worst for your brother if he still living,” Brendon looked at Gerard with something he could only explain as an odd display of sympathy.

“Why? What are they going to do?”

“You guys are Killjoys, right?” Sarah asked. “I mean, I just assumed because of the masks. BLI kept a small index of the different tribes and their locations, traditions, and-”

“Yes we are, well what’s left of them anyway.” Ray cut her off.

Sarah licked her lips before she spoke again, “Your people have their tradition of offering blood to the Desert, the Scarecrows have one as well.”

“We believe in great goddess of the Desert, Destroya.” Brendon said, finally standing from the ground to his full height next to Gerard and Ray. “Destroya more fierce than a sand storm, stronger than mountains, and command respect of all. Any who refuse this order... she take their life as payment of crime. The favorite of her children are allowed freedom in her kingdom, my tribe were her most loved. That why they spill blood in her name wherever they go.”

Gerard tried to keep his breathing even. He looked down at his hands and the skin on his forearms, exposed from partially cut off jacket sleeves. His skin was littered with thin, white or pinkish scars from all the times he’d willingly given his blood up in prayer. Even after their tribe had been taken from them he had eventually continued the practice. He looked over and was keenly aware of all of Ray’s scars, and he remembered Mikey’s and Frank’s. Each of them had given so much over the course of their lives, but they had volunteered that blood. The thought of someone  _ taking _ someone else's blood like that made him sick. His stomach churned knowing Mikey was with people like that.

“So are they… are they going to bleed him to death?” Ray asked.

“Among other things,” Sarah answered, her face grim.

Gerard needed to sit down. He grabbed onto Ray, his knees giving out and Ray helped him to the ground.

He sat for what felt like an eternity. This shouldn’t be any worst than he already thought of but it just is _. _ He ran his hands through his greasy red hair. The strained look Brendon had worn on his face, like he was almost  _ ashamed. _ Guilty over the fact he had once been part of whatever they were going to do to Mikey.  He knew Mikey most likely wasn’t dead, but he was going to be a ritual sacrifice. And despite what Sarah had told them about reprograming Brendon he still had to remember most of the process. The look on her face when she’d answered Ray told that she heard all the gruesome details from a first hand account.

“Please, you have to help us get him back,” Gerard begged.

From his sitting position Gerard could see Sarah lace her fingers into Brendon’s. She squeezed them gently as he said, “If it not too late, I will do my best.”   



	5. Chapter 5

_ The worst prisons were not constructed of warped steel and stone.  _

_ ~ Kelseyleigh Reber _

He woke up with his mouth dry and sandy, his tongue grating on the roof of his mouth. Mikey opened his eyes to warm, bronze colored dirt and the shifting shadows laid out on it. He did a quick inventory of his body. His neck was sore from sleeping with his head lolled down on his chest. His arms and shoulder ached and his hands were numb; they were tied tightly behind his back. The rope holding him wound thickly around his wrist and then snaked up his arms, criss-crossing back and forth between each arm like shoe laces. He tried wiggling his legs and found they were bound as well, rope around his ankles and just above his knees. Other than the restraints he seemed to be only bruised.

He sucked in a breath with the intention of letting out a groan but hot air irritated his throat and he sputtered into a coughing fit. Mikey felt his lungs contract painfully and revised his earlier injury inventory, a few ribs were definitely cracked or broken. When his fit died down a bit Mikey noticed the long shadows from earlier weren’t as far off as they once seemed. He looked up for the first time as saw two brown robed figures standing over him. Their hair was wild and long, one having it pulled back in a pony tail. Their faces were calm and covered in paint, yellow coating everything from forehead to neck and thick, black paste over their lips and following the underside of cheek bones.

Mikey jolted back, suddenly remembering what had happened. The fucking Crows jumped him and Frank. He struggled to stand, pushing with his legs to use the rock behind him as an opposing force. His arms rubbed against the rock wall as he fought his way up for approximately 30 seconds before the Scarecrow without a ponytail closed the few feet between them and kicked the underside of his knees; effectively making him lose all his progress up. When he landed back on the ground the Crow kicked him again, this time in the fleshy part of his side. Right in between the bottom of his ribs and top of his hips.

Mikey let out a short cry of pain, feeling his muscles tighten. The Crow grabbed Mikey’s hair and roughly jerked his head back. He was forced to look up at the Crow again. Under all the paint Mikey could see the Crow’s face was relaxed, eye’s unworried. He figured the Crow is most likely a man, a hint of facial hair peaking out under the thick paint. The Crow lifted the hand that wasn’t currently tangled in Mikey’s hair to reveal a water skin. He brought his hand forward, setting the opening to Mikey’s lips. Mikey clamped them shut tightly, he would be damned if he let them fuckers drug him. The Crow let go of Mikey’s hair to slap him sharply across the face before returning the hand to his hair and push the water at Mikey’s lips with much more force. 

Reluctantly, Mikey opened his mouth and swallowed. The water was warm but it tasted clean, not even a trace of dust tainting it. The Crow let him finish off the entire water skin and produced another from his robe after. He released his hold on Mikey to open it, taking a sip himself before offering the rest after. But one sip and Mikey knew it wasn’t water. 

He sputtered and spat the bitter, tangy liquid out onto the ground. The scant amount he had swallowed burned it’s way down his throat and into his stomach. He’d had a drink like this before, once when they had snuck into the city in an attempt to map it. They’d stumbled on a party of city dwellers in the labyrinth of sewers below the city. The city people had welcomed them, they traded stories and helped them finish their map. They also introduced the Killjoys to this kind of drink; they called it alcohol.   
The Crow laughed at him and took another swig from the bottle. He stepped away from Mikey, saying something to his friend in a harsh, guttural language. The other Crow responded and they quickly dove into a conversation after that. Mikey allowed himself to let out a silent sigh; his whole upper body moving with his lungs. The bindings on his arms scraping against the rough cliff behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

_ My whole thing is loyalty. Loyalty over royalty; word is bond.  
~Fetty Wap _

The weight of Gerard slung across his shoulders was solid and comfortably familiar. Brendon’s figure was deceiving, his limbs were long and his muscles were lean but he could carry more than his fair share of dead weight. For short distances at least. Brendon could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead and the back of his neck. He had been on foot carrying Gerard for a little more than half a mile now.

They were in the Dunes, just South of the tall, looming Mountains. Most of the dunes here were particularly vicious, leaping from the ground abruptly climbing up; wishing to be mini mountains. Brendon knew the territory well, having been here countless times over his life. He trekked through the rocky terrain, balancing options of the easiest path and the fastest. By the time he reached his destination Gerard’s weight had begun to become too much, Brendon could almost feel his spine compressing. 

They were in a small clearing among a denser patch of dunes. The largest dune in the cluster, to the right of Brendon had a cave born all the way through to the other side. Brendon set Gerard’s limp form down on the sandy ground, his red hair blending nicely with the soft bronze sand that was common in the Dunes.

_ “Who dares come to the sacred home of Destroya?” _ Brendon heard the course roll of his native language from above him.

He turned around and looked up, shielding his eyes from the setting sun. He spotted a single silhouette on the top of a dune. He could only manage to pick out the form of a short, familiar robed outline and an arm raised, ready to throw the spear it was holding. Brendon smiled, this guardian must be only a child, easier to manipulate than he expected.

_ “Do you not remember me child?” _ The language felt odd coming across his tongue after so long speaking only English.

Shocked, the child lower the spear. Brendon watched as they hopped and climbed across a few dunes to a lower vantage point. Now out of the direct sun Brendon could see he was right, the child was a young girl, barely a teenager. She crouched down in her new perch and the two of them faced off in a staring contest, examining and sizing up the other. Brendon could see the girl wore the brown robes of their tribe and her long, tanned hair was falling out out of a loose braid. The paint on her face was messy, smudged black and yellow around the edges; she’ll likely be scolded by her parents later for such a sloppy appearance on holy ground.

_ “Who are you?” _ she asked again.

_ “The one who was touched by Destoya,”  _ Brendon replied.

The girl’s eyes went wide and Brendon could see her mouth drop slightly.  _ “Killer King,” _ she breathed. She clammered down from her nook among the rocks and dropped gracelessly to the ground.  _ “Is it really you?”  _ Her face was split into a wide smile.

Brendon returned the smile,  _ “Yes, it is.”  _ He picked up Gerard again, body wrapped around his shoulders.  _ “Take me to Spencer and Ryan, we have much to talk about.” _

The girl nodded furiously and dash towards the dune with the burrowed tunnel, Brendon followed.

**…**

_ “Brendon!” _ He heard a voice calling him by name through the crowd.

Brendon turned towards the direction of the voice, scanning the gathered mass of people. Dozens of his people were swarming down upon him. Many of them were reaching out, trying to touch various parts of his body; others were talking at him trying to get even the smallest conversation with him. But all of them were chanting his name.

_ “KillerKingKillerKingKillerKingKillerKingKillerKingKillerKingKillerKingKillerKingKillerKingKillerKingKillerKingKillerKing.” _

_ “Brendon!” _ The voice called out again, much closer this time.

He finally managed to find the owner of the voice in the throng of people. It was Spencer, one of his oldest friends, muscling his way through the people towards him. Brendon took a step in Spencer’s direction, the crowd parting for him like the red sea. He reached Spencer and immediately wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. He could see over Spencer’s shoulder that Ryan was fighting his way through the masses of people.At his arrival a moment later,  Brendon took Ryan into a crushing hug as well.

_ “Destroya has returned our king to us!” _ Spencer proclaimed. He grabbed Brendon’s arm and hoisting it up in the air, a champion’s display.

_ “And on no day less than the eve of our great day of her celebration!” _ Ryan threw an arm around Brendon’s shoulders.

The crowd cheered in response. 

For hours Brendon allowed himself to be jostled and thrown about the crowd, though never letting Spencer and Ryan out of sight. He spoke with other old friends, various family members, and past lovers from his former life. It was bittersweet, to reconnect with this life, this family where he was welcomed and celebrated throughout the whole tribe. It would be easy to let Gerard and his brother be damned, to go back to this life, but the bubbling memory of Sarah kept him grounded. How the corner of her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way she bit her lip without thinking and comfortable beat of her heart were too sweet to trade for this life back.

_ “There was talk in the Zones of your escape weeks ago.”  _ Ryan stated when the crowd had finally dwindled away.  _ “Where have you been?” _

_ “Licking my wounds,” _ Brendon responded scanning the area for Gerard. He was suddenly keenly aware the reason he came here was nowhere to be found. _ “I came with someone else.” _ He told the two.

The two shared a glance that was a mix between surprise and confusion.

_ “I didn’t hear about any others escaping the city with you.” _ Spencer finally spoke. 

_ “He is not of our clan. Destroya brought him to me as sign.” _ Brendon responded to their unspoken question.

Brendon made his way through what was left of the crowd and looking for Gerard. Eventually he spotted a patch of red hair among a gaggle of children. As he approached them he could heard a strange mix between arguments and laughter. They fell silent as Brendon, Spencer, and Ryan finally made their way over. The group split apart to reveal Gerard, conscious and sitting up. He was looking frantically back and forth between all the children (most of whom had weapons) and Brendon. Standing over him, almost in a protective manner, was the same girl who had been standing guard outside earlier.

_ “Thank you for keeping an eye him,” _ Brendon said to the girl.

Her face split into a wide smile and if he had to guess he’d say she was blushing under her face paint. Brendon grabbed Gerard roughly by the collar of his jacket and hauled him to his feet. Gerard’s hand were tied firmly around his back but his legs were intentionally allowed slack in the binding so he could manage small steps. Brendon shoved him forward, towards Spencer and Ryan.

_ “Destroya lead this one to me,”  _ Brendon began as Spence and Ryan surveyed Gerard’s disheveled form.  _ “I was curled up in a sand cave when he found me. As soon as I looked at his face I heard Destroya whisper to me, ‘ _ This is the one I want _ ,’. And I knew it was time to return to the clan, my family.” _

_ “But we already have one for Destroya, he is being made ready for tomorrow as we speak.” _ Ryan said.

_ “Show him to me,” _ Brendon took hold of the back of Gerard’s neck as Spencer and Ryan lead them through the maze of dunes.

When they reached Mikey it was a sight Brendon was well familiar with. Mikey was stripped of his shirt and stood half naked with his arms bound above his head, his head lolled down to indicated he was unconscious or just barely awake. Mikey’s skin shone in the hot sun; it was bruised and cut in a few places but almost unnaturally clean for any Desert dweller. The only exception to this was the small trail of blood still trickling down from split lip, just beginning to swell and very fresh. He was standing with his back to a dune that stood apart from all the rest and twices as tall as the others. There were a handful of women surrounding him, their face paint immaculate and crisp with their hair neatly done in a single, long braid extending down their backs. 

Hearing their approaching footsteps, one of the women, who appeared to be the oldest, broke away from the gathering to speak with them.

_ “Ryan, Spencer the boy is almost ready. We had washed him and he needs only to be anointed. The youngest girl and I will pray over-” _ she stopped midsentence, seeming to finally glance at Brendon and Gerard.  _ “So you did make it back.” _ A sly smile split across her face.

_ “I did, and I brought another gift to Destroya,” _ He gestured to Gerard.

_ “You know well as anyone this ritual is for one and tradition is to be upheld.” _

_ “Destroya spoke to me. These two are of the same blood. She wanted them sacrificed as together: blood of the same line-” _

_ “Flow as one,” _ She finished. It was a common phrase among their people.

_ “But how do you know for sure these two are related? This is the first time you have laid eyes on the boy we have and I see few shared traits between them.”  _ She looked skeptically from Gerard’s red hair and full face to Mikey’s blond hair and thin jaw line.

Brendon  pushed Gerard forward in response. He steered him through the cluster of women who still surrounded Mikey. They split apart giving Gerard his first real change to inspect his brother. Brendon took a knife from his jacket lining and used it to split the bonds holding Gerard’s hands. Gerard, unlike any other sane person who would’ve run or fought, lurched forward the last few feet separating him and Mikey. He wrapped his arms around his brother in a fierce, tight hug. He ran his fingers over her brother’s torso examining the damage and whispering reassurances.  

_ “See how they care for each other?”  _ Brendon offered.

The women looked on the two brother’s for another moment. She weighed her options and looked over at Ryan and Spencer for confirmation before she spoke,  _ “I’ve never know you to be wrong in matters that concerned Destroya, Brendon. I’ll take your word and the brothers will be offered tomorrow, together.” _

With a sharp, bark of a command from the eldest woman all the other girls still by the lone dune converged on Gerard. He fought back, hard, but they managed to pin him and bind him again. They strung his body up next to his brother and stripped off his jacket and shirt. Brendon moved backward to Spencer and Ryan to watch as the girls began the process of preparing Gerard’s body.

_ “You couldn’t just come back, you  _ had _ to make an entrance,” _ Spencer smirked.

Brendon shrugged,  _ “A flare for the dramatic never hurt anyone.” _

_ “If you say so,”  _ Ryan let out after a short laugh.  _ “Let’s get you cleaned up as well. Clean bodies and the freshest war paint for the Day of Destroya.” _   
Brendon followed as his friends lead him off. He relished the last bits of Desert wind on his face. It had been so very long since the thick globs of paint deprived him of the feeling of the sun’s warmth on his cheeks, and he was hesitant to go back.


	7. Chapter 7

_ It is vain for the coward to flee; death follows close behind; it is only by defying it that the brave escape.  
~Voltaire _

“Gerard, fuck, Geraaarrrrd,” Mikey whispered. 

He dared not raise his voice any more else he would alert the two women sitting by a fire not too far off.  With bare feet Mikey felt around on the cooling sand for a rock. When he found one he did his best to kick it in his brother’s direction. But in the dwindling light of oncoming twilight he was quite literally taking shots in the dark. It took him several tries before one of the rocks found their way to Gerard's shin, but that did little to wake him. 

"Gerard," Mikey tried calling again, this time accompanying it with the toss, and hit, of a rock.

Gerard woke with a start, yanking down on his arm bonds. It took him a moment to remember where he was; his brain slightly scrambled from the blow he received to knock him out earlier. The two women who were sitting by the fire heard Gerard wake and rushed over to check on them. They relaxed as soon as they realized neither of them had gotten free. The younger of the two pulled a water skin from her robes and offered it first to Gerard then to Mikey. 

"How did you get here?" Mikey asked as soon as they were out of ear shot back at their fire.

"Believe it or not, this is the rescue plan," Gerard let out a half hearted laugh.

"Oh, it's going so fucking well Gee," Mikey scoffed. "Now we're both gonna die."

"Hold on, let me explain. I came get you from the inside, Ray and Sarah are coming with the bikes at midnight to get both of out of here.”

“I think you missed the part where we’re both tied up and completely helpless,” Mikey said, once again tugging at his bond to emphasize his point. 

“That’s where we have help,” Gerard gestured with an elbow back in the direction on the fire. 

Mikey could see there were three figures there now. The new one was standing over the two women. He could see the figure was tall and under all the robes and their body thin, but what struck Mikey as the most strange about this new figure was their hair. Uneven in the cut and almost his length, but none of the Crows he had seen so far had short hair. They all wore it long and usually wild. 

The figure Mikey had been inspecting turned away from the fire and the women to make his way towards the brothers. From the front he could tell the stranger was a man, face freshly covered in Scarecrow paint. There was something about this man that seemed… vaguely familiar to Mikey. Then again that could just be the dancing firelight and the surrounding night playing tricks on his eyes.

“They not bother you the rest of night,” He said to the two, in English much to Mikey’s surprise. “They pray for a long time now.”

“That’s great and all, but can we get some help with these bonds?” Gerard asked.

In stupefied silence Mikey watched as this stranger pulled a small blade from the folds of his robe with a dazed smiled and handed it to Gerard. His brother took the tiny knife and immediately began sawing at the coarse rope around his wrists.

“Do we know you? Why are you even helping us?” Mikey snapped at the stranger.

“Mikey-” Gerard tried.

“No, Gerard what if this is part of their plan? Some sort of test.” Mikey nearly yelled, still trying not to alert the women by the fire.

“It not a test,” The stranger answered confidently. “And I not know you, but I believe you know me. Your tribe called me by the name KIller King. Now I prefer Brendon.”

“Gerard what the fuck were you-” Mikey was cut off by the whooping of several war calls.

Brendon’s whole body froze up immediately. It only lasted a moment because just as quickly as he tensed he melted. He whipped another knife out of his robe and cut down both Mikey and Gerard in one fluid motion. He thrust the knife into Mikey’s hands and produced yet another from his cloak. With the knife raised for a fight he turned from the brothers and ran back at the women. 

The older of the two just managed to get to her feet before Brendon sunk the knife to it’s hilt in her stomach. He kicked her limp body away and turned to the younger. The girl had more time to react and managed to get into a better fighting stance, using burning piece of firewood as her weapon. She swung it without much skill a few times before Brendon managed to grab her wrist and forced her to drop it. He kicked at the side of her knee, the impact forcing the joint to pop out of place. With a strangled cry of pain she fell to the sand. Brendon delivered one more swift kick to her face, knocking her out cold.   
“We need go. Now.” He told the brothers.

...

The call they heard earlier wasn’t a war cry, Brendon had explained, it was an alarm. Enemies had been spotted approaching. Gerard knew why Brendon had reacted the way he did at the call: he thought a scout had spotted Sarah and Ray.

They crept through the camp, sticking to the shadows clinging to the walls of the dunes. There were scattered fires everywhere, but most were abandoned. Occasionally there’d be a fire surrounded by the huddled forms of children. It was easy to tell they were scared in the way they clung to each other for protection.

He shivered slightly in the oncoming chill of a Desert night. The leather of his jacket clung to his exposed skin, pulling at it with sticky fingers. Brendon had managed to recover Mikey and Gerard’s jackets but their worn thin, cotton shirts hadn’t survived.

“What exactly is the plan?” Mikey asked as they Brendon took a sharp turn and started climbing up a dune wall.

“Ray and Sarah should be here with the bikes. Me and you ride off with them and later Brendon finds Sarah at their rendezvous point.” Gerard replied, beginning to follow Brendon up the steep hill but with only half his grace.

Mikey looked skeptically at the rock facing before picking his own path, “Who’s Sarah?”

“Mine,” Brendon practically barked.

At the top of the dune Mikey could see a patch of light moving from the far right corner of his vision towards them. As it got nearer he could make out the small forms of flailing bodies, mid run to keep up with something. Next he heard what they were running after- from this distance it sounded like the low purr of a cat. He could hear the hum of the bikes’ motors bouncing off the dune walls and because of years of ride and working on them he could one of them wasn’t working properly. Something was off enough to make it sound more like a low growl rather than a pleasant whisper. 

Brendon took off down the side of the dune opposite to the one they climbed up. The brother’s followed. This side was significantly less steep, you could make it down without falling if you ran and kept your weight on your heels. At the the base of the dune Brendon didn’t stop, he kept running using the leftover momentum to his advantage. Mikey did his best to keep up, dodging and cutting around dunes; the purr of engines getting ever louder.

“Sarah!” Brendon called out in front.

To his side Mikey heard, “Ray! Sarah!”

“Ray!” Mikey let out his own call.

The running and heavy breathing was beginning to jostle Mikey’s damaged ribs when they finally caught sight of the bikes. They were going so fast Ray and a female driver, who Mikey assumed was Sarah, had to swerve to the side to stop in time. 

“Come on we need to go now!” She beckoned, extending an arm out to Mikey.

“I got hit,” Ray called. “Back tire punctured, the air is leaking out pretty fast.”

Gerard swooped down to examine the tire. “It’ll hold long enough for us to get out of here.”

No sooner than the words had left his mouth a spear flew past Ray’s shoulder. It missed his body by a few feet, lodging harmlessly in the ground between the two bikes. All five heads whipped in the direction the spear had come from. Standing about 50 feet away were three Scarecrow, running towards the group. They were shouting back in their thick, harsh language to an even larger group. Mikey could feel the ground shake with the force of the pounding mob advancing towards them.

“Go,” Brendon growled.   
He strided over to the spear stuck in the Earth as Gerard mounted the bike with Ray. Mike saw him pull the weapon from the ground as Sarah revved the engine and they jolted forward. He risked one last look back at the famed Killer King to see a single man holding a spear ready to take on an entire tribe.


	8. Chapter 8

_Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.  
_ ~ _Seneca_

Frank woke with a pounding headache and a tongue of sand. He groaned loudly as his arms flailed searching for something to help himself stand up. Light was just beginning to trickle into the diner through it’s cheap plastic blinds, so he navigated through the room in the semi-darkness. His knee was screaming in protest with every step he took, the pain radiating through his leg. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out in pain.

He knew Ray and Gerard would furious with him walking around. After they had gone through so much trouble to patch Frank back up the last thing they would want was him tripping and injuring himself again. Frank couldn’t help it though, lying in the corner of the diner on top of his heap of blankets was enough to drive him mad. He needed to move, to feel the hot wind on his face, to have the sun on his face.

Limping across the diner Frank used any available furniture to support his weight. His original goal had been to make it to the door located on the far side of the diner. Just a moment of fresh air would help; he’d slip outside and back before anyone else woke. Halfway across the room the dull roar in his knee turned from bearable to louder than war drums shooting through his nerves. He resigned himself to one of the several booths smashed up against the wall. He could open a window and look out from the booth and it would almost be the same.

The cord to up open the blinds felt thick and coarse in Frank’s hands as he yanked on it and the blinds folded in on themselves and ascended towards the ceiling. The sun was just peaking over the horizon over the Endless Sand Sea, Frank couldn’t necessarily see it because of the angle of the diner window but he knew it it was there by the long shadows it was casting. He reached to undo the widow latch and gave it quick jerk to open. The rusted track squealed in protest, not loud enough to wake Ray, Gerard, or Grace in their room. How ever it was loud enough to elicit a groan from the figure sitting in the shadows on the other side of the booth. 

The noise startled Frank, who had been so intent on the window and the pain in his leg to notice the human sitting across from him. In the emerging sunlight he could only distinguish a few traits of the mystery person, asleep and leaning up against the wall. It was obviously man, shorter hair and angular features told that much. His face was also pretty beaten up, split lip, bruised jaw, an eye that was just beginning to swell and turn a slight shade of blue in the corner. Under all the injuries and gloom of the diner there was something familiar, like this was someone Frank  _ should  _ remember.

It took nearly another half hour with the rising sun aiding his vision for it to click. The realization almost knocked a startled scream from his lips. The last time Frank had seen him his face had been covered in Crow paint and Frank had still been in bland city clothes. He was older and different now, that was for sure, but so was Frank. This time he would not get the drop on Frank, he knew how to fight back now and that is exactly what he intended to do. 

Ever so quietly Frank scooted towards the outer edge of the booth. They kept a few cooking utensils on the door side of the diner, and as the Desert as his witness he would kill this Crow with a spatula if he had to. Everything went according to Frank’s flawless plan until he actually stepped out of the booth. He twisted his body like usual and his foot didn’t follow, normally that would be fine but a newly injured and freshly reset knee cap sharpy objected and gave out. Frank hit the floor with a muted  _ thud  _ and loud cry of pain from his knee’s compliant. 

The Scarecrow in the booth let out another groan at Frank’s cry and raised a hand to rub at his eyes. Frank’s breath caught in his throat, the Crow was awake now and Frank was on the ground, knee fucked up again and helpless. He began scooting backwards on his butt, the only option retreat now, when he heard another noise from behind him. A door opening down the hall, most likely one of his friends coming to investigate the noises coming from the diner.

“Ray!” Frank called, abandoning all hope of stealth. “Gerard! Grace!”

Frank could see the silhouette of the Crow turn to look at him, vulnerable on the ground. He made a movement to stand up out of the booth but was stopped short. Frank once again noticed for the first time, there was another person laying down on the booth, head on the first Scarecrow’s lap. He sped up his movements inching backwards to the safety of feet padding down the hall.

“Frank are you okay?” Frank could hear Gerard’s voice behind him. “I heard you fall and Grace said you out of it pretty much the whole time we were-”

“Gerard help me,” Frank grabbed onto Gerard’s leg and desperately started trying to pull himself up. “There are two Scarecrows in the diner and one of them is Killer King. How did they get in-”

Gerard dropped down to Frank’s level, eliminating himself as a way for Frank to stand. “Hey, hey Frankie look it’s all okay. He’s not here to hurt us, he actually-”

“Everything good?” Mikey’s voice called from down the hall.

Frank managed to rotate his body enough to look past Gerard at Mikey. He was half naked and holding a ray gun, just rolled out of bed and ready for a fight. His exposed chest was covered in blooming patches of yellowish-purple bruises with a stray graze here and there.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” At Gerard’s word’s Mikey’s stance went neutral and relaxed.

“How did you… I saw them... “ Frank looked to Gerard for an explanation.

He helped Frank back to his pile-of-blankets-bed and began explaining. Gerard told Frank everything from the conversation he and Ray had to finding Brandon and Sarah to rescuing Mikey and ending at the present moment. The sun was well above the horizon when he finished, its light no longer trickling into the diner but streaming in in golden columns. At some point during the story Ray and Grace had appeared from their rooms and had started making food. Brendon and Sarah sat in their booth watching the KIlljoys’ daily routine and half listening to Gerard as he spoke with Frank.

Frank watched in a trance from his position on the ground as everyone moved around him. Gerard eventually left him after finishing the story which, holy shit, they’re all lucky to be alive. Ray disappeared after eating, presumably to go shower or attend to the bikes. Grace brought food over to the pair of Scarecrows sitting in his home. Mikey even appeared from his room, now fully clothed to snag the remnants of breakfast and ultimately ended up doing the dishes.

The whole day went on like that, normal but with the unwelcome presence of the two outsiders. None of the others seemed to notice it though.They were friendly with them, Mikey and Gerard chatted with Sarah about the city. Ray managed to get a few words from Brendon throughout the day. Frank felt like he was holding his breath the entire day, only being able to breath again when the intruders were heading East, their forms only specks on the horizon.

“Are you ok?” Ray asked midway through their card game that night. “You seemed a bit off today.”

“Oh I’m fine, it’s not like I had to watch the Crow who fucking murdered my entire family in the diner all day.” Frank let the venom seep into his words.

Gerard and Mikey both pursed their lips from across the table in an identical manner.

“He’s different now,” Gerard tried to argue, but he knew it wouldn’t matter to Frank. “You never heard what Sarah said about what the city people did-”

“I don’t care what they did to him!” Frank shouted, he immediately regretted it though because he knew Grace had already gone to bed. “I don’t care who he is now, back then I saw him smile when he ripped my mother’s throat out.”

“Without him we couldn’t have gotten Mikey back.” Ray mumbled in a passive tone.

Opening his mouth to make another retort Frank snapped it shut after looking over at Mikey. He was still beaten and bruised, a black eye hinting an appearance and the split lip from earlier definitely worse now, but he was here. Still breathing and in one piece. No matter how angry he was, Frank couldn’t deny how happy he was Mikey wasn’t dead.

  
Fine, Killer King had a pass this time, but Frank still wouldn’t hesitate next time.


End file.
